


To the victor, the spoils

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Fluff, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 16 of the Mapmaker Series. A human woman joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield on the quest to Erebor as a mapmaker and finds a lifelong love.</p><p>A playful sparring match between husband and wife</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the victor, the spoils

You were in the library, engrossed in a book, when your stomach began to growl. Standing up from your chair to stretch yourself and realizing that it was nearly time for luncheon, you decided to seek out Thorin and walk home with him. Failing to find your husband in his council chamber or in the Hall of the Kings, you spoke with a guard who said he had last seen the King heading in the direction of the armory. 

Sure enough, as you approached the chamber, you could hear muted grunts of effort and the shuffling of quick footsteps. Standing outside the open door, you looked into the room just enough to observe him without being seen. His face was stern and intent, his mouth set in a hard line as he spun and charged, the blade of his sword Orcrist flashing. He moved with grace and power that took your breath away, and you watched him with pride of possession, reminded that this one who was so gentle and tender with you was capable of such great physical force. 

With a growl, he made one last lunge that would surely have been the death blow to an opponent, then, his lips curving in satisfaction, twirled the sword casually and bent to pick up a flask of water from the floor. He had just raised it to his lips when he caught sight of you peeking around the door frame. “Amrâlimê!” He was panting slightly, smiling as you walked into the room toward him. “What are you doing?” 

“Watching my handsome warrior in action,” you grinned, as he took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before greeting you with a kiss. 

He shook his head regretfully. “I am out of practice.” 

“But no less formidable,” you assured him, and he flushed a bit, gratified by your admiration.

“What have you been up to this morning?” Thorin asked, taking another drink as you wandered toward the racks of weapons that lined the walls. 

“Reading, mostly,” you answered. “I also stopped at Gloin’s, little Gimli has a cold, so I took him some cakes from the kitchen and had a cup of tea with Dwinia.” 

Thorin nodded approvingly. You stopped in front of the wooden swords that were meant to be used by beginners for sparring practice. Plucking one of the swords from the rack, you felt its weight in your hand, looking down the length of the wooden blade. With a mischievous smile, you took a second sword and extended the hilt end to Thorin, your eyebrows raised in invitation. He chuckled, and put down the flask. Sliding Orcrist carefully back into its sheath and laying it aside, he took the wooden sword from you. You walked to the center of the room, assuming a defensive stance as he appraised you. 

“Remember to keep your feet moving,” he advised, and then, “begin.”

You hadn’t held a sword since the days of the quest, when you would sometimes pass the time in camp learning rudimentary fighting techniques from Fili and Kili, and the weapon felt awkward in your hand. You initiated by making a cautious jab, and he simply took a small step back to avoid it. 

“You are tentative,” he observed. “When you strike, strike forcefully. Do not give your enemy the chance to anticipate you.” 

You thrust the sword at him again, this time more purposefully, and though he blocked it easily, he smiled and said, “much better.” Thorin continued to parry your attacks, which became more confident, murmuring the occasional word of encouragement, then suddenly warned you, “If I slash low…what are you going to do?” He slowly swept the sword at the level of your feet, giving you time to react, and you hopped over it, ungainly in your gown. “Very good,” he chuckled, and you smiled, going back to lunging at him. Your next charge was clumsy, and Thorin was able to lightly touch your side, just above your waist, with the tip of his sword. “First blood,” he grinned.

You were becoming winded, but you kept at him, and eventually you managed to dodge his attempt to block you and touch him under his arm with your blade. “Blood,” you panted, triumphant. 

“Excellent!” Thorin smiled, as you stood catching your breath. “Had enough?” he asked. 

“Have you?” you teased. Attempting to surprise him, you darted at him with a final, bold stroke, but his reaction was quick. He smoothly deflected your blow and stepped forward to close the distance between you, using his blade to push yours upward so that the two swords were crossed, pointing toward the ceiling, and your bodies were only inches apart. You smiled warily at him, maintaining the tension of your sword, and his eyes twinkled as his glance flickered to your lips. 

Suddenly, his leg swept your feet out from under you and his free arm caught you behind your back as he deftly and carefully lowered you to the floor, landing on his knees to straddle you. He gently tapped your chest with the point of his sword. You laughed, even as you groaned in defeat, and he chuckled and bent over you, planting his hands on the floor on either side of your shoulders. “Dead,” he declared, playfully, and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Your hand moved to cradle his cheek as he beamed at you, and he stood, lifting you to your feet as well.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, remembering why you’d been looking for him in the first place. 

“Famished,” Thorin replied, offering you the flask of water and reaching for Orcrist. 

The two of you walked hand in hand back to your chambers, sheepishly making plans to apologize to the kitchen staff for your lateness, and as you approached your door, you asked him, “can we spar again sometime?” 

“May I kiss you every time I win?” he answered, with a grin. 

You snickered, but said, “if that is how you treat your victims, I don’t mind losing.” 

Thorin put his arm around your waist, drawing you close to flirtatiously nibble at your neck, making you giggle, before promising, “anytime you like.”


End file.
